-
(Untitled)
i'm reallyreally fucking pissed and what, confused? she deleted every single post that included my poems/writings for her uh bro what the fuck?????? we are trying to keep our relationship a secret now but you could just, i don't know private your account or something. or does the account matter more than i do? i feel like she just punched me in the ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
i think i'm falling asleep but then all that it means is i'll always be dreaming of you. fate fell short this time, your smile fades in the summer....
- feeling this.
love cheshire cat album most though eeem -
(Untitled)
now isntttttt it something how a car engine and a chainsaw can sound the same when youre just trying to leave yourself in the rearview? wrap rage vs simple grazes. nothing more than carelessness unzipping the skin these days but sometimes i miss when that wasnt the case -
(Untitled)
oh, they love to call it honesty, dont they? how they gorge themselves, these wretches clothed in flesh they dare to call divine. like any of teeth on bone or blood-slick jaws makes them prophets over prophets, scraping marrow like beggars pretending at kings. but no, this isnt bravery. its not even hunger ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
it's 2:30 am and i'm resting my guitar back to it's case. i just learned Rychagy Mashin's 'Cat' in 10 minutes and that might be my song of the month ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
moms guilt blooms like a tumor, shes swollen and weeping pus from fists dressed in matching silver halos, polished to a sheen ( Read more... ) -
international love
its new years baby
more on videos and pics -
(Untitled)
egret plumes. theyre excuses, soft distractions you hold onto while everything else burns. shes sitting because movement would make it real. because sitting lets her pretend, lets her play the scene with a trigger finger ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
the clock was counting down to what it only knew, what was hands dragging too many (hunting) seasons: a bullet to a deers chest and unwilling antlers hung by the oak wall. im tracing lazy circles over the thin film of dust on the dinner table, running through the scalp of grooves worn rough by hands before mine that still carried the air of ( Read more... )
